Maybe the novel as MTV clip at best. I don't know how much
mileage this
cat's got left in him. This is an excusably poor first novel
from a guy who
clearly hasn't learned his trade yet. His use of language is
beneath
contempt "He andironed (?) out of the desert." Nothing like
stopping yr
readers until they figure out . . . oh! yeh! Someone pushing
himself up does
kinda look like an andiron. A what? You know, those things in
the fireplace.
They got two things pointing down, like arms y'know? The
idea, at least the
way I've got it figured out, is NOT to slow yr readers down.
Ever. For
anything. Certainly not because you've decided to be
impossibly cute with a
metaphor and want them to bask in your wittiness.
Then there's the "voice" Mr Teran employs. To me, it sounds
like a mix of
late 60s Mansonoid creep-babble and GenX club/street whining.
Not
compelling. Not, well, anything, except maybe cloying. And
annoying.
GOD IS A BULLET reads like something written in a week on a
constant diet of
speed, vitamins, fast food and vodka. There's nothing wrong
with doing it.
Passing it off as literature (and literature is what we're
all about here, I
hope) is another story.
There are flashes of real artistry in GIAB, though not nearly
enough. The
author may have something to say. But he hasn't said it here.
It's one thing
to think Bill Burroughs is the cat's pajamas (he is). It's
another to try to
bend his unique genius to the popular crime story (well, he
already did
that). It's yet another thing to pump out 300 pages proving
that you can't
do it nearly as well.
In the last respect, Teran succeeds.
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